Without Hope, We Live in Desire
by AliquisAnonymum
Summary: What really happened in the dark of the night... A series of stories pairing Erik and Christine, Christine and Raoul, and even Erik and Raoul. There may be others as well. Some may seem OOC, and I do apologize if that doesn't appeal to you.
1. His Return

**His Return**

_Dear Raoul,_

_Oh how I miss you, dear. It has only been two days and I can hardly wait for your return. I am pleased to inform you that all is well at home and Madame Bouloir has sent word of the Monsieur's successful recovery. Well, I once again wish you _bonne chance _on your trip and wish you a hasty return. Well dear, it is nearly 10 of the clock so I shall be retiring._

_Your Dear Wife,_

_Christine _

_P.S. And dear, we need to purchase a new pair of doors for the balcony; recently they haven't been shutting very well. _

The clock struck 10 and the vibrant 'wrongs' of the old grandfather clock wove throughout the house, declaring curfew. Someone knocked on the door of the master bedroom and stepped in.

"_Bonne nuit_, Euphrasie."

"_Bonne nuit, _Madame le Vicomtess."

"Wait." Christine de Chagny folded up the scented parchment and handed it to her maid. "Tomorrow morning, can you send this letter for me?"

"Yes, Madame. Good night, Madame." She slightly bowed her head and left the room with the letter.

_Ah, what a tiring day. _Christine thought. She slipped in between the silk sheets and the plush mattress of the bed and drew up the covers. _Oh, it feels so empty without you, Raoul. _She turned to her bed stand to blow out the light. The flickering flame suddenly blew out as a small crack softly echoed in the room. With a small gasp, she glanced at the source of the sound; the balcony doors had blown open again. She let out an exasperated sigh as she reluctantly left the comfort of her bed. Her hand closed the door half way and stopped. She re-opened it and stepped outside. The autumn evening greeted her with a crisp wisp of air that caused her to shiver slightly. Christine rubbed her arms for a moment and then leaned against the balcony rail. Paris glowed beneath her, its beauty spanning across the dark horizon. She slowly shut her eyes, breathing the Parisian air. The wind rustled her curly chestnut locks and seemed to whisper her name:

_"Christine." _She quickly opened her eyes, but shook her head and shut them again.

_"Christine."_ She pushed away from the rail and hastily shut the doors. She hurriedly crawled into her sheets and took a quick glance around the room. _Only my imagination. I should have long passed my foolish imaginations. _The "imaginations" soon faded away, leaving Christine in blissful slumber.

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"Oh, Raoul, what is the surprise?" Christine asked in childish glee.

"Little Lotte, it's a _surprise_. You'll have to wait." Raoul playfully, yet cautiously placed his hand on Christine's waist. He leaned close to her ear. "It is one you shall never forget."

Christine could not hide a small look of astonishment on her face.

"What is it, Little Lotte?" His hands felt unusually cold. It felt icy, hard – familiar.

"Oh, it's nothing, dear." She took up his hand and pressed it to her cheek only to pull it away in fear. "Raoul, you're freezing!"

"Oh, it's nothing dear Lotte." His voice carried an unusual, yet chillingly familiar tone – one of another world. He seemed to be close, yet distant; loving, yet hard; gentle, yet – yet –

"You can never hide, Christine. You thought you were safe with your Vicomte." The boyish, handsome features were gone, slowly replaced with a pale face, with a porcelain…

"Oh, God, it's you." Christine tried to run, but a pair of iron clasps grabbed her wrists. "No, let me go!"

"My Angel of Music; come to me, Angel of Music." The thread of silver which slithered passed his grotesque lips caused her hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

"- there, inside your mind…"

--------

"No, no!"

"Madame le Vicomtess! Madame le Vicomtess!"

"No, let me go! Let me go!"

"Madame!" Euphrasie shook Christine's shivering body. Christine's eyes jolted open, slowly coming to realization. She stared into her maid's worried gaze. "Madame, you were having a nightmare, only a nightmare. You were talking in your sleep. Your cries worried me deeply."

Christine took a moment to look around the familiar room and slowed her breath. "I'm fine, Euphrasie. As you said it was only a nightmare. I'm sorry for waking you, there's no need to worry. You may return to your room." Her voice was shaky and unconvincing, but Euphrasie shrugged and bowed her head.

"Alright, Madame. Good night, Madame." Euphrasie made her way to the hall, softly closing the door behind her.

Christine was left covered in perspiration and clutching the covers as she had done only a few years before. She took another look around the room, flinching at every waver of an eerie shadow. She turned on her side and pulled the covers up, clutching them to her trembling chin. Her eyes opened again. The room had suddenly grown colder. Looking over to the windows, Christine saw that they were all shut. There was no breeze, but a chilling atmosphere hung around the room. Christine drew the covers closer and tighter to her body, feeling an uneasy familiarity lingering near. _Raoul…_ The single thought slowly released all tension within and replaced it with fast-coming sleep.

Christine jolted up as she felt her hand. Her face skewed into that of confusion for her hand was unusually cold. She felt her waist and felt an icy trail as she met the skin. She tried to remember what had just occurred. She had felt a sort of hand trail down her skin holding her hand in its grip and suddenly disappear as she woke. Christine shook her head. _It's just a dream, a hallucination. _As she tried falling back to sleep something made her blood run cold.

_"I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera." _The whisper fell against her left ear, but when she turned around, nothing was there. _"I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera." _She did not dare open her eyes for fear of seeing… _"I'm here," _It sounded beside her, _"I'm here!" _above her. Christine began to sit up, but a weight pushed her back down. She looked directly above her and saw what she had long sought to forget.

Two discs of gold glowered down at her no more than six inches from her face. The piercing glare suffocated her, rendering her unable to scream. She could not speak; only mouth a few words. "No, your – dead."

The eyes smiled in amusement. "Ah, but who can ever kill a ghost? Yes, it is I, Christine, your Angel of Music." No pity, sorrow, or feeling other than spite coated his voice. "Did you never forget Erik? Why, of course. How could you forget? Even with your beloved little boy at your side always waiting on you hand and foot, you could vever forget me. Why? Because you vowed to me your undying love, your life, your soul. I gave you everything and only ever wanted your love in return. So simple. But no, no one could ever love the 'Devil's Child'. Oh, no, not the beast of Hell. But you thought you could run from your Erik – yes, _your _Erik -, but no one can hide from Erik. No one can evade the Opera Ghost!" He broke into a frightening laugh that filled the spacious room. "Speechless are you? Well, talk to _your _Erik for Erik has always been yours as you have been mine." He lowered his face and the moonlight revealed the objects of Christine's nightmares: The gaunt, pale face that held the Devil's glare, the swollen red lips, and the glinting porcelain mask. "Speak, my angel, speak!" His voice shook her body.

"But Erik, you know that I have always loved you and – " Here Erik stopped her with a menacing snarl, causing her to start and try to draw away.

"_Loved_ me? You say you have _always loved me_? Well, then let's see how much you love your eternal betrothed." In one swift movement Christine's wrist were bound to the head of the bed and Erik's hands were on her waist. Christine screamed but this did not deter him from removing the slight gown. She continued to scream for help, wondering why she could not hear pounding feet in the hall. "Your efforts are wasted; no sound can escape this room." She stared at him incredulously.

"But how – "

"Ah, Christine, Christine, have you not learned?" He removed the rest of her clothing as Christine continued her useless shouting and writhing. "You shall have to learn to love the Erik you sought to forget." He pressed his lips against hers, breaking past her pursed lips with his exploring tongue. She screamed against him as tears began to stream down her pale face. Without thought, she bit down on his tongue causing him to draw back, cursing at her. "So, Christine, that is how much you love your Angel? Then shall Hell cast a fury like no other." He hastily removed his clothing, revealing his sickly form to Christine's reluctant eyes. He licked the tears that were rolling down her face and slithered down to her throat.

Christine gasped as the grotesque mouth nipped at the soft flesh of her neck. Against all her will she moaned as he softly suckled the flesh. Unconsciously, she lifted her torso and skimmed her womanly mounds against his emaciated frame. The action caused him to groan and he moved down to the two mounds of sensitive flesh. She let out a sharp gasp as his mouth closed around her. His constant suckling hardened the brown flesh. Satisfied, he moved to the other, repeating the suckling motions of a forbidden ecstasy. "No, no, no. Please don't do this. Please, please…" Christine whispered helplessly. He only smiled against ehr and continued down her twitching stomach. He reached his destination, gazing at it in wonder. He lifted the petals of her womanly rose, revealing the bud of all ecstasies.

"No! Oh, god, no. Erik…" Christine was surprised and could not suppress the great burst of feeling at the slight ruffle of her petals. Erik smiled and continued to fondle her with his audacious tongue, suckling with abandon. He slowly put his hand against her womanhood, satisfied that she had succumbed to his being. Christine let out a moan as Erik's fingers entered the lair of all her secret pleasures. He slowly pushed his fingers in and out as she bucked her hips in uncontrollable rapture. With a defeated groan of finality, she released upon him the honey of sweat release.

Christine was happy, yet abhorred at what had just happened. It felt so exhilirating and sinful, yet she knew no will was strong enough to hold back the bestiality of this ecstasy. "Please, Angel, I implore of you to stop, please. I can't – I can't –"

"Well, we have only just begun."

"Please, don't, I beg of you."

"Do you really? No, you have failed; that wall has crumbled. You have given in – to the music of the night."

"No, no, that's not true."

He now positioned himself over her, his mask a mere inch from her trembling features. "Don't fool yourself, my Angel, for Heaven knows no bounds. You belong to me."

Christine could not suppress a moan as she felt his hilt against her throbbing sheath. Nor could she hold herself back from lifting her hips in her aphrodisiac agony. "Untie me, please. Oh, Angel, I implore you!" She nearly screamed those words of suppressed longing.

"Much better," he muttered, "now, what do you wish so, my Angel?"

"Take me, I am yours, my love has always been yours. So take what is rightfully yours. Take it!" She hissed the final words so passionately it was plain that Madame le Vicomtess was no longer there, instead replaced by a carnal demon of Hell's malicious creation.

He grinned cruelly and he took her roughly by the mouth, releasing her small wrists. He slowly lowered his hips toward hers, causing Christine to moan against his swollen lips.

"Now." Christine whispered and he assented. A sharp intake of breath and a stifled moan began the final act. Christine placed her hands on his scarred back, pulling, clawing in her mounting ecstasy. She wrapped her leg around his, her toes gradually curling with each insertion of divine pleasure. They moaned and whispered into each other's mouths, speaking of love and lust. Their tongues continued their embrace as Erik's hips continued their steady pattern, gradually quickening.

Suddenly, with unusual strength and fervor, Christine pushed Erik to his side and onto his back, never disconnecting from him. Sitting up, she rotated her hips and threw back her head in her passion. Erik slid his hands up her thighs as she began her motions up and down, back and forth. The room filled with their mingling cries of lust and passion, becoming one voice, one body, one soul. Time was nothing to these oblivious lovers. The fires blazed in passionate fervor, consuming all thought, all logic, all past. The clouds shuddered and the moon trembled as the oblivious lovers continued their rocking embrace. They felt the act coming to an end, the finale at its death.

"Erik." Christine moaned.

"Christine." Erik returned. The curtains fell.

"Angel!" Angel and Demon shouted to the Heavens, their final call of ecstasy, each fulfilling the other.

Before Christine shut her eyes, a pair of softened lips touched hers once more.

The shadow disappeared; leaving a sleeping beloved bare and entangled in her sheets and dreams.


	2. Ange de la Musique

"But Erik-"

"But Erik? But Erik? Oh, woe the poor Erik! Not even a mother to be loved by. Poor unhappy Erik! But what is 'poor unhappy Erik' to do? You have, alas, promised the 'poor unhappy Erik' your love, your honest, undying love!" His eyes flared; the windows into Hell itself. Christine was at a loss; she had been caught, inevitably caught by her _Ange de la Music. _She could no longer find any words within the villa of her mind for it was flooded by dread, worry, fear. He hovered over the surrounding scene, over the scattered furniture, the toppled books, candles, and above her trembling form. Christine was on the ground, her dress in disorder around her legs, and her blonde hair in disarray around her tear stained face. He lowered his face barely an inch from her's. Christine could feel Hell's breath, cold and fiery at once.

"You promised – gave me your love. You told me your soul would always be devoted to one being – me. I placed the ring upon your finger and you accepted it, accepted it without protest, _mon ange._" Calm seemed to overcome the storm within his eyes, as if remembering her acceptance, but it lasted for only a moment. "But YOU LIED!" He grabbed her roughly by the arm. He pulled her forcefully to her feet and stood her in front of a glass case. Within it was the wedding gown she was to wear. "You told me you would gladly wear it for me and you would do anything to please me," here he turned her around, again close to her face, "but I see you have been planning on wearing another for your precious _Vicomte."_ The last word could not have come out more venomously from a snake.

"But I do not love Rao – the Vicomte; it is you who I –"

"LIES! I saw you upon the rooftop, your head upon his shoulder," he looked down and shut his eyes tightly, trying to erase the memory of two nights past, unable to continue. Christine took this chance to think. _Should I try to escape or… no, I can't. I cannot leave him, not like -._ She suddenly felt something cold drip onto her bosom. She looked down and another followed after it. The tears glistened upon her pale skin.

"Oh, poor, unhappy Erik." She said, unable to bring her voice above a whisper. His hands were still tightly clasped to both her arms, but she released them up with ease. "Poor, unhappy Erik." She repeated and brought both her hands up to his face, holding it up to her's. His eyes had become more bulbous than before and she could see the powder on his face begin to wash away as another tear crawled down his cheek. She hesitated but leaned her face forward and kissed the absconder tear drop, softly licking it away.

Erik flinched, quickly backing away. His eyes no longer held the raging tempest, but the calm of sorrow, slowly feeding its way deeper within. She still stood against the glass, wondering at what she just did. The two stood frozen, lost within each other's pleading eyes whose sorrow budded from longing.

"Poor, unhappy Erik." Christine mouthed and she closed her eyes. As she did so, a tear escaped her eyelid and slowly rolled down her porcelain cheek. Erik approached her, cautiously, timidly. She did not raise her head. He put a hand upon her arm – softly this time – and another on her chin. He lifted her head, once again locking eyes and this time he leaned forward. His mouth closed upon the lone tear. Never leaving her face, he lowered his lips down to her mouth, that sacred mouth. He shuddered and quickly pulled away, his back now to her. She was lost in it, that moment that God did not intend, that He forbade, the meeting of Heaven and Hell – or did He?

"_My _poor, unhappy Erik." Erik's arms were wrapped around himself as if consoling his want, his need, his forbidden desire.

"You must return, Christine, you must return. All are looking for you. I must take you back. What have I done?" he said to himself, the syllables barely audible. He knocked against his head and began to pace the scattered room.

She put a hand upon his shoulder. When she turned him around she did the unexpected. She opened the gates of Heaven and Hell, unleashing all that lay behind them in a single kiss. Her lips were suddenly pressed against Erik's, causing him to start, and the almighty Gods could have been heard shouting in their disgust. He stood frozen against her as her lips moved against his and her hands caressed his cheek. She separated from him, but for only a moment as she gazed into his ashen eyes. Christine then wrapped her arms around him, setting her face into his neck and her arms clutching the tensing muscles in his back. "Oh, _mon ange_, what fate has set upon you." She whispered in his ear as she felt the shielding mask. He could not speak; only raise his arms little by little to bind around his beloved, failing to suppress his mournful sobs. She looked up at him with unfamiliar affection and enclosed her lips upon his once more. Her hands rose to his face and caressed the Devil's cheek.

Erik was now overcome with abandoned emotion that was a stranger to him. He closed his eyes in the ecstasy of that forbidden moment. He balled his fists and tightly wrapped them around her back, relishing in the angel's kiss. He could not think, only float in time and place. He suddenly broke the kiss, moving sharply backwards, unable to do anything but stare at what could only be a dream. He quickly moved forward and held Christine's face in his hands, gazing from her lips to her eyes, not believing what had just happened. He moved back again wrapping his arms around him once more. His hand rose to his face and he started, his face in a twist of anguish.

"My mask, where is my mask!" he cried silently. Erik turned frantically around in search for his sole piece of solace. Suddenly, he stopped, looking at the outstretched hand of Christine which held the missing piece of his life's being. She had taken it off as she held him, wanting to see her angel in full once more. He stared at the mask incredulously with his mouth agape.

"Oh, Christine! Why have you unveiled the Devil upon you? Why did you seek you satisfy your womanly curiosity in my pain, my agony?" He then searched her eyes for an answer. "Christine why, why? Have I not told you -"

"You have no need to hide it from me." She moved closer, her arm still outstretched. "It is this which I truly desire." She had moved so close, it seemed she would kiss him again, but moved her empty hand up to his chest, feeling the dormant soul which had gone cold in time. "Poor, unhappy Erik." She whispered as her arms wound around him, listening to the rhythmic beaten of a soul long forgotten. She did not run from him!

Erik could no longer suppress the sob built within him, nor could he any longer suppress the monster of carnal birth. He lifted her face - also tear-streaked, but nevertheless beautiful - to his face and enclosed his lips around hers. She did not start or move away, but succumbed to his needing mouth. Erik slowly wrapped his sinewy arms around her waist and back and lifted her up, reluctantly separating his mouth from hers. They never broke eye contact and saw within each other a repressed beast of longing, caged within the confines of the aching heart. Erik laid his beloved into the russet coffin, no longer a bearer of death, but of life. They could, at that moment, do nothing but gaze at each other. Within each still raged a beast, but still the restraining cage stood fast – that of fear.

"Christine, I -"

"Shh," She brought a finger up to his mouth. "You needn't speak." And she brought her hands onto his bare face, pulling it down onto hers. What erupted from his throat was unexpected and unusually carnal; a growl of uncommon bestiality broke through the barrier so long the suppressor. Quickly, the light gown was done away with and stopped, seeming confused; a lost child in a maze of confusion. He pulled himself away. "No, I am sorry, no, Christine, this – no." He put his face into his hands, gently shaking his head. "No, you must return, you must. Hell has no place for an Angel."

Christine placed her hands on his shoulders and brought them down. "What of you then, _mon ange_?" She looked into his eyes meaningfully, his now a softened gold. "I have nowhere to return to any longer. All former life and light has been forgotten."

Erik gazed back at her innocent, searching eyes as his mind continued its tumult.

"Are you truly sure this is what you wish for?"

"More than anything the world has had to offer."

She kissed his powdered cheek and searched his eyes for a response. All he did was nod sheepishly and crawl back down on top of her, careful not to crush her. Christine could see the fear in his eyes and hoped he did not sense it within her as well. Boldly, she placed his hand on the thin lace upon her shoulder and slowly helped him pull it down. She did the same with the other. Erik carefully, as if handling a porcelain doll, pulled the chemise away, his gaze shamefully lowering to the shadow just above her bosom. Christine raised herself so that he could untie the laces of her corset. He rose with her, but just stared at her, his eyes slowly filling with tears again. She smiled at him uncertainly and took both his hands around her back, leading them to the laces. He quickly unlaced the girdle with dexterous fingers. When he sat back up, he hesitated to pull it off.

"It is fine." Christine encouraged. She slipped it off and threw it gracefully onto the floor and lay back down.

Now, Erik gazed upon the pale flesh of his Christine, yes, _his _Christine, the body of Aphrodite herself. Tears escaped him and began to continue their stroll down his cheek. He leaned down and took her lips into his; those sweet lips that accepted his grotesque mouth. Christine pushed his coat off from his shoulders as they continued their simple kiss. She led her hands down to the buttons of his shirt and it soon joined the jacket. Her hands slid across his back. She traced the scars that seemed to coat his back. Their lips parted. "Oh, poor Erik, what life you have known." Christine continued to trace the scars on his chest and a tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh, poor, poor, Erik." She raised herself a little to kiss a scar on his chest, "I promise all wrongs shall be set right."

Now all that lay between the two was a pair of trousers. Christine grabbed the hip of his pants and began to pull downwards. Erik slowly assisted her and soon one barrier was gone.

"Christine, I know not – "

"Shh," she caressed the marred flesh upon his face, "nor do I." He looked into her eyes in an innocent satisfaction and she looked back in the same fashion. She spread her legs out slightly and wrapped her hands around his neck, nodding in readiness, but turning slightly red. He carefully positioned himself over her, his arousal now against hers. Christine seemed to whimper at the rushing feeling within her and Erik almost pulled away, but she held him.

"No." Christine held gripped his back tightly.

"But are you sure?"

"Yes," she blushed a little more, "yes of course."

"But it shall – "

" – hurt, yes, but I would rather it you than anyone else." He once more took possession of her plush lips and gazed at her vulnerable form before him. He swallowed the sight before him, afraid it might vanish into a dream. Christine's blonde curls surrounded her angelic features beneath her. With one motion he could destroy it all. The thoughts of her virtuous being almost caused to him to leave her permanently. Erik searched her eyes for an answer. Christine's bright blue eyes glistened in the near darkness as she seemed to caress him with her gaze, urging him forward.

He hesitated a moment and he slowly fell into the depths of her longing. Christine winced. She gasped against his mouth and arched her back slightly, but would not let him draw away from her.

"No Erik, please, it shall pass." Erik paused a moment, fear and concern flooding his glowing eyes.

"No," he tried to pull away once more, but to no avail in Christine's desperate grip, "I should have not. Christine, you know not of what I have done to you!" He hung his head in shame and sorrow. "Go back, Christine, you are free. Why did you not grasp at that freedom and go when it was there before you? Why do you not draw away, cursing my very existence? Why? Why?" His body shuddered as he tried suppressing his despairing sobs. Christine could not help herself from joining in his sorrow. She pulled his emaciated form against her and stroked his head.

"But I am free, Erik. I do not turn my head away because there is nothing to fear." She whispered into his ear. "I am yours. Your bride, your full, loving bride. Here to console you, guide you, help you." Erik raised his tear-stained face to hers and kissed her tenderly.

He opened his mouth to speak but Christine closed it with hers, his words then lost in the oblivion of her affection.

"Do not speak, only love."

Erik took in a long breath and dipped once more into that unknown abyss. They both exhaled sharply as a searing heat coursed threw their bodies. As the heat coursed through them again, Christine could not help grasping Erik's face and pulling it to hers. As the heat intensified with each unhurried thrust into her womanly chasm, their cries grew more urgent, slowly mingling into one song. Never had either felt such – such ethereal feelings, such overwhelming emotions and sensations believed only to be felt by gods. Christine gripped Erik's tensing back and arms as their aria continued, both aware of its approaching climax.

The last measures were sung and the final note rang throughout the Heavens, twirling around the lovers' sweet oblivion. They clutched at each others' shuddering bodies as the final echoes of their song died away. Erik opened his watering eyes. Oh, to have just taken the body of an angel! He kissed Christine tenderly before setting himself down beside her pale, glistening form. Christine stroke his face with equal tenderness.

They needn't speak in their final moments of consciousness for their eyes spoke their words of love and fulfillment for them. _I love you. I love you so, so much._

As Christine's sleeping form lay in the mahogany coffin, a specter emerged from the darkness, only to withdraw back into the shadows, weeping silently.


	3. Haunt Us 'Til We're Dead

**Haunt Us 'Til We're Dead**

Raoul woke with a pain in his shoulders. He slowly shook his head left and right as he stretched his body across the stone floor. His eyes flickered open. _Stone floor? _He tried to stand up but found that he could not raise himself more than a few inches off of the ground. He looked at his bare arms and started, growing frantic. His arms were in shackles attached to the floor. He tried lifting his arms and pulling away from the awful chains but could get no more than 6 inches away. He moved his feet and found that they too were chained to the grimy stone floor. _What is this? Where am I? Christine?_ He continued pulling and shouting in confusion and anguish until he heard a sound emanating through the walls. He stopped pulling and strained to hear the distant noise. It sounded like… music.

Raoul withdrew sharply and bruised his wrists as he reached the limit of the chains. The music pulsing across the thick walls was terrible, yet so – beautiful. He tried to retreat from the awful melody, shutting his eyes and trying desperately to free himself. The music grew ominously louder, beginning to drown out Raoul's frustrated cries of help. The melody racked his brain with ghastly images and evil intent, seeming to flood his mind with all that Pandora unleashed upon this world. The song seemed to shriek within him, pressing upon his heart and soul with an unbearable weight. He collapsed on his side, whimpering as the music began to grow softer, the images slowly, yet painfully retreating.

His body was coated with sweat and his breathing was ragged. His eyes seemed to threaten to close forever as Raoul tried his hardest to fight off unconsciousness. He felt a slight wind rush past his face and he was suddenly wide awake, but still weak. He cautiously sat himself up and squinted in the near darkness. He felt the rush of air pass directly behind him and he turned around. He started as he thought he caught a glimpse of yellow disappear into the darkness. His mouth was too dry for any speech to pass through and he could only stare around him in fear.

Raoul turned again as he thought he heard a low chuckle. It seemed to surround him, first in one spot then flitting to the next. There seemed to be no point of origin.

"I'm here…" Raoul jumped and fought against the rattling chains.

"I'm here…" It was on the opposite side of the room now.

"I'm here…" The voice flitted next to his ear, but as he looked, nothing was there. The chuckle that departed the invisible throat sent foreign vibrations across Raoul's quivering flesh, bringing his hopeless pulling to a halt. Finally, he found his voice.

"Where am I? Why are you doing this to me?" His voice trembled. The frightening chuckle came again, louder this time.

"Ah, boy, you fool."

Raoul stopped breathing. He remembered that voice; that low, melodic timbre. Of course, how could he forget it? He thought he and Christine had escaped that voice forever. The chuckle seemed to press against his skull and seemed to grasp at his thoughts.

"You ignorant fool. You thought you could escape from me?" The icy voice took a mocking tone. "You thought you could run? Run to the countryside with Christine and forget all that has happened? No! No one can hide from the Opera Ghost!" The voice boomed and echoed in the small room. "Silly little boy, thinking you could outrun Erik."

But he was dead. There was supposed to be nothing to outrun.

"Of course, but you think 'That crazed fool is dead'. Ha! Who could ever kill a ghost?" Raoul felt a cold, hard finger lift his chin. "A ghost…" The being before him smelt of death and – hate; only an otherworldly being could smell of it. Raoul jerked his head away and looked down. For the first time since he awoke, he realized he was bare, completely bare. He could do nothing. And there went the low chuckling.

"Now, Vicomte, you have stolen from me what I loved most. You stole from me my one hope of salvation, boy. You stole it from Erik." Two floating orbs met his eyes, golden and piercing.

"You had no right to her in the first place. _You_ are the thief." Courage seemed to return to Raoul in a fleeting moment. "You say you loved her but there is one problem: Christine never loved you, you beast." He spat the last word with maximum vehemence.

A hand hit his face and spots appeared before his eyes as he once again fought against darkness. Blood threatened to flood past the thinned skin below his hands. A strong hand grabbed his chin roughly and lifted it to within a few inches of the golden eyes. "You insolent boy!" As quickly as the hand let go of his chin, a thick rope surrounded his neck. Raoul could not shout in pain or mercy as the lasso began to tighten. "In my lair, you will take care not to speak with such insolence or the consequences shall be served to you on a silver platter. A meal to die for, boy."

Raoul felt cold hands trail cruelly across his back. Raoul tried to struggle but the lasso grew tighter. The more he fought against the lasso and the shackles the tighter it grew until he almost fell unconscious and grew limp. The lasso gradually slackened.

"Yes, boy. The more you struggle, the more quickly you shall dig your grave."

The skeletal hands crept down Raoul's back, sending shiver after shiver up his spine. He felt the chains and lasso move and he blinked.

No longer was he on the ground, but rather, he was standing upright. He was facing steel, and it took him a moment to realize where he was. His legs collapsed beneath him and he hung, chained to the metal portcullis and helpless beyond all measure. Looking up he saw a dimly lit corridor, dank, and cold. The corridor Christine had seen many times before and one that he had barely glimpsed once. Memories tortured him. Stony flesh felt at his back once more and Raoul groaned in the agony it brought. Though the hands were colder than ice, the trail they left seemed to burn through the skin. The fingers lowered to his waist and pulled him backward toward the invisible figure. Raoul felt his rear touch against soft fabric and tried to pull away, but a vice-like grip held him steadily. The hands released him and he heard a loud intake of breath before the hands returned. As the hands pressed him against the figure, Raoul felt not cloth, but icy flesh.

Raoul fought against him but to no avail. The fingers held his thin waist with a deathly grip. He winced as the bony digits dug into his flesh. When he opened his eyes, he felt water up to his waist. He looked around. He was in the lake, the lake five cellars below the opera house. He was in the lake, still attached to the metal portcullis; the portcullis as cold and unfeeling as the hands that created it. Looking down, he found he was still bare and as he felt the icy flesh at his back once more, he realized that the fiend behind him was bare also.

"You burned the only bridge that could have led me to my salvation." The voice hissed. "Now I shall take from you all dignity and shall show you the pain of humiliation and loss; the equivalent pain of which you have inflicted upon me."

Raoul felt a pulsing against him below the surface of the water. His eyes opened wide and he tried freeing himself again. The disgusting throbbing brushed against him, sending a wave of revulsion through him mixed with… with… no, unthinkable. His head was jerked back when strong fingers pulled at his hair.

"Boy," the voice growled, "I shall enjoy this petty torment no more than you. I shall make you feel worthless, repulsive, and undesirable. You shall feel the evil and sin I have felt and suffer equal torment to that which I have suffered."

The fingers moved slowly, painfully down his sides, across his waist, and to the junction between his legs. Raoul felt weak, he found no will in him to fight back anymore. His thoughts whirled through his mind, encouraging him to move, but his body responded in numbed silence. He was suddenly aware of a soft humming in his ears and closed his eyes. He leaned backwards ever so slightly to try to find the origin of the song. As he found the source, his body tensed for a moment. The notes invaded his mind and took control. His body rippled with a foreign eroticism and he felt his blood pulsing beneath his flesh, his heart ripping through his chest. The notes traveled through his mind, beckoning, seducing every occupant within. Raoul's eyes rolled upwards as he felt as if he were lifted and floating in space.

A sharp pain rocketed up his spine and the melody vanished. He clamped his lips together, suppressing the scream rising in his throat. The Devil had entered him. A nasty cackle sounded beside his ear, worsening the searing pain in his back. The pain receded slowly, painfully. Agile fingers grasped his waist as the pain returned. Raoul bit his lip, arching forward against the cold steel.

"No, no." He managed weakly. "No more, I beg you."

More cackling. "Ho, boy, we have only just begun."

The specter pulled away slightly and penetrated him again, with no hesitation before continuing. Raoul winced at each painful entrance. He could hear the faint animalistic grunts coming from the throat of the creature behind him. The pain, he noticed, gradually subsided and was slowly replaced by –

"No." he whispered. A warmth flooded his body; heat coursed through his veins. His heart threatened to tear through blood and flesh. _No. _He squirmed feebly against the steel, against the delicious pain. He felt his body ripping itself apart, his mind threatening to shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Yes, you feel it don't you, boy, the heat, the… desire. The covetousness of a boyish heart. The need for more, the need for the fulfillment of discarded fantasies. So take the apple. Eat the apple."

Raoul could not answer but felt it in his burning heart that it was true. A fire roared within him, consuming all with rapturous delight. He felt himself moving against the serpent. Oh, the sweet flesh of the apple and so close he felt he was to its core. The serpent silently beckoned to his soul, urging him to take another bite into the perfect fruit. He accepted the offering and could not suppress a cry of satisfaction. He groaned loudly, all shame leaving him, and gave in to the ecstasy. This was what she told him of. The sweet fulfillment she tried to explain to him. This was what he did not understand so long ago. _Christine…_ No, there was no Christine, only - _him_. He felt the serpent's claws find the core of his desires. The animal-like fingers traced down the length of him. Raoul groaned as the fingers continued their wicked path.

There was little left of the apple; he had finally reached the core. The fingers continued teasing, the bodies continued thrusting, and the blood raced ferociously, all preparing for the final bite. Raoul cried in a carnal passion as he hit the peak of all ethereal rapture. The heat rose within him and escaped through his throat, creating a song of sin and shame. The hands slowly released him and the figure slowly withdrew.

He felt cold air against his neck the trailed up to his ear.

"That, boy, is sin in its greatest form."

The chains that held him broke and he slid into the sullied water. He felt broken, renounced, abandoned. All warmth escaped him, all breath and skin turned cold. He looked through the water and met maliciously grinning eyes. Golden eyes floating before him, filled with amusement and satisfaction.

"Christine." He mouthed as water filled his lungs and as darkness began to fall. "Christine…"

Raoul sat up, sweating and gulping fresh air. He looked around him, confused. He was in his room with his warm bed was beneath him. He looked to his left and immediately relaxed as he saw his wife's features, peaceful and undisturbed. He lightly touched her soft fingers and lay down. _Christine… _He almost fell asleep when he heard a soft humming:

"_Christine, Christine…"_


End file.
